Car-Crashed Hearts
by DetonatorSunshine
Summary: If Bruce ever foresaw himself falling into bed with a scarred man with a love of destruction and a doctor who twisted minds, with morals threadbare at best, he would never believe it. Bruce/Joker/Crane


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He watches them both. He's huddled in the window of Crane's flat, hunched over like a black gargoyle. His eyes rove over the two figures in the bed.

The sheets only cover Jonathan Crane's tall body halfway, white t-shirt riding up just enough to show off light hair glowing in the lamp left the bedside table. It leaves a faint, honey-colored hue over everything, clashing with the milky glow of the moon.

One arm is perched behind his head; the other tangled in the Joker's hair. Jonathan is surprisingly the more dominant of the two and the Joker burrows into his body heat as if he can somehow merge them into one.

A sleeping Joker is a rare sight. Bruce takes a moment to admire the smoothness of his face, the dirty blonde hair so different from the toxic green. One of his small, deadly hands is gripped loosely in the fabric near Crane's heart and it should be wrong that those murderous hands could be so gentle.

A gust of wind passes over the vigilante in the window, shooting straight through his armor. The Joker shivers under the covers as it hits him, stirring but not regaining consciousness.

"Are you going to stay crouched like that all night?" A sleep stricken voice inquires quietly in the dark. His eyes trail away from the Joker to Jonathan, who is looking at him with a half-smirk and tired eyes.

"I didn't plan on it." The smile he offers must seem out of place against the gruffness of his voice but he pushes these thoughts away, stepping whisper-quiet into the room. It is much warmer in here and he knows it has nothing to do with the number displayed on the thermostat, rather the two people occupying the space.

"I see you got him to bed." He is taking off his armor as quietly as possible, stripping out of Kevlar, leaving behind the rooftops and blurry bat signals if only for a few hours.

The doctor wears a proud smile, running a hand fondly through the harlequin's hair.

"Yes. And trust me, it was no easy feat."

The Joker doesn't sleep. He would have nightmares of repressed memories rising to the surface of his skipping-like-a-bad-record mind. He would scream and kick, barely contained by Bruce and Jonathan's restraining limbs. And he would cry, large mournful tears over someone he used to be but can barely remember. They wouldn't be able to touch him for days.

Seeing him soundly asleep with no tension on his brow made Bruce more grateful to his lover than words could ever express.

But there are rules to this love.

There are reasons he removes the armor before surrendering himself completely, reasons the Joker does not wear his make-up in bed, reasons Jonathan does not discuss his fear toxin in front of Bruce.

It's a dangerous game they're playing and they are aware. If Bruce ever foresaw himself falling into bed with a scarred man with a love of destruction and a doctor who twisted minds, with morals threadbare at best, he would never believe it.

Yet, as he slips under the covers the normal nagging regret that normally occupied his mind for a quick second isn't there. He decides to blame it on the fatigue and the slight tension in his temples.

The Joker shifts as the bed dips, mumbling incoherently in his sleep and looking surprisingly vulnerable. He shuffles into Bruce, retracting immediately afterward, eyelids fluttering.

"Bats?" he whines quietly, "You're cold."

There are bruises on his flesh. Bruce knows because he is the one who put them there a day ago. His calloused fingers brush over the Joker's bare side, rubbing the material of his t-shirt between his fingers before ghosting over the yellowed patches of skin he can't see in the dark but knows is there.

"Go back to sleep J," Jonathan says softly, running his long fingers over the clown's scalp, eliciting a noise dangerously close to a purr. He turns over, once again nuzzling into Crane.

It will be dawn in only two hours and Bruce needs all the sleep he can get.

"G'night," he slurs to each man, reaching over and stealing a barely there kiss from Jonathan's lips and planting his lips to Joker's forehead. He gets mumbled, sleep-drunk replies whispered in the dark as if they are sacred.

"See you in the morning Bats."

Bruce does not know why, but it feels like he is promised something that he has longed for, and it echoes in his mind even after he is asleep.

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_A/N: This is my first ever fic so I would really appreciate it if I could get some feedback. All critique will be noted as I'm looking to better my writing. While this is in the Comics section, it's still Nolan adaptations but I may bring characters from the comics. Please let me know if this is a problem. Pleas review, even a few words would be great and let me know if you think this deserves a sequel. _


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